Becoming Brothers
by SisterDear
Summary: ABANDONED. They’ve made it through the summer without killing each other, but there’s far more to becoming brothers than that. AU time travel, Harry adopts Tom Riddle.
1. In Which a Feast is Eaten

Becoming Brothers is the continuation of Tom Marvolo Riddle Potter. I suppose you could read this one without reading that one first, but, well… I'm the author, so of course I wouldn't recommend it.

Disclaimer: Rowling owns everything recognizable.

Chapter 1: In Which a Feast is Eaten

OoOoO

As it had been last year, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was tightly packed. Tom pasted a polite smile across his face and shouldered his way down the tight corridor. He paused just outside the door of a compartment near the front of the train, double checking the occupants before sliding it open.

"Nott. Avery. Lestrange."

"Riddle."

And just like that, his school-time persona slid into place.

Tom relaxed, storing his trunk before taking a seat next to Lestrange. He waited a moment as the conversation he'd interrupted started up again, taking in the direction of the discussion before inserting himself into it.

He loved this, loved the power plays, the ebb and flow of a battle of words disguised as polite conversation. And he loved knowing that today, finally, he was in position to make a major win. He sat, waiting for just the right moment, smiling and allowing himself to join in with polite laughter and shared smirks as the train jolted forward, then settled into a rhythmic rocking in the background.

Soon enough, an opportunity presented itself and Tom revealed the first card of his winning hand.

"They've found a new Quidditch instructor. Ellerby's retired."

"How did _you _find out?" Avery blurted.

"I saw Professor Slughorn this summer."

Nott leaned back in his seat, frowning. "So did I. He never mentioned it."

Tom shrugged. "His name's Potter. Harry Potter."

Startled widening of the eyes from Nott, confusion from Lestrange and Avery. Exactly the reaction he'd been expecting. Tom smirked.

"Potter?" Nott demanded. Then his face shifted from shocked surprise to scorn. "You've got your information wrong, Riddle. There aren't any Potter's left."

Tom sat back, unruffled. "No, his name's Potter. You'll see when we get there."

OoOoO

The Welcoming Feast was no more interesting than last year. Glad as he was to be back, waiting through the Sorting and trying to ignore the noises coming from his stomach was trying. The highlight of the feast came when Headmaster Dippet introduced the newest faculty member.

Harry didn't stand, but waved to the students from his seat, smile somewhat nervous.

Tom smugly noted the unsettled look Nott shot his way. He smirked back, reaching forward as the feast appeared to spoon a lump of mashed potatoes onto his plate. Dinnertime chatter swept through the hall.

Harry was clearly younger than most of the other professors. Smaller, slightly unkempt. The candles lighting the hall picked up the sheen of sliver in his hair. It aged him, but only a bit. Beside the professors, he still looked young and unprofessional. Not too bad a thing for a sports instructor, but Tom wouldn't have minded if he gave a somewhat more dignified first impression.

Dumbledore turned, leaning around Slughorn to make some comment to Harry. Harry's lips quirked up as he replied, the nervous lines across his forehead easing away.

Tom felt his eyes narrow. He didn't care what nonsense Harry spouted about political power; there was more to his attitude towards the Deputy Headmaster than that. There were a lot of things he wasn't saying, for that matter; many, many secrets he was keeping. He'd dodged the questions he'd promised to answer after the Diagon Alley incident altogether, but Tom wasn't going to let him get away with it. He'd left Harry plenty of opportunities to explain how, exactly, he'd survived a Killing Curse. Harry hadn't taken any of them, even though he'd said in the hospital that he would explain.

Tom despised liars, but he understood misdirection, and he understood secrets. Of course, that didn't mean he'd stand for secrets kept from him.

If Harry wasn't going to give him the answers as he'd said he would, Tom would just have to figure it out for himself.

"Riddle," a voice called him back from his scrutiny of the head table. He ignored it, keeping his gaze focused across the room. "Riddle," Lestrange called again.

"Riddle-Potter," Tom corrected in a deliberately absent manner, returning to his meal. The table around them paused. Nott's fork clicked as he set it down on his plate carefully.

"Riddle-Potter?" he echoed.

"Yes," Tom cut a few more chunks from his chicken, mustering his most innocent smile. "Did I forget to mention why I knew who the new professor was?"

"You did weasel your way out of that little detail."

Tom carefully did not react to the slight insult. "Harry's my brother. He returned in June to take custody and we moved back to the Potter grounds."

Dead silence from the second year Slytherins. And none of them would ask for clarification to the many questions that statement left unanswered; that would show a severe lack of subtlety, social suicide in this house. No, instead they would suggest that he-

"Prove it." Walburga Black demanded. Tom frowned at her.

"You can ask Professor Slughorn."

If they actually did so, it would run the risk of their Head of House letting slip that Tom and Harry were only magically related through adoption and not actually related by blood, but the risk was only slight. Slughorn could be perfectly discreet when he wanted to be, especially when dealing with one of his more favored students.

His classmates, well aware of Slughorn's open approval of him, had been growing increasingly cautious in their dealings with Tom. They knew that asking the Potion's Master could very well gain them nothing.

"Or," he added offhandedly, "I could introduce you after dinner."

Cautious agreement all around. Satisfied, Tom returned his attention to his plate.

OoOoO

Slughorn and Dumbledore kept Harry engaged in conversation throughout dinner. Neither of them let up until the dessert plates vanished and the Great Hall began to empty. Tom saw Harry's shoulders sag over a gusty exhale as soon as he was alone at the Head Table. The chaotic din of the rapidly emptying hall had all but disappeared by the time Tom stood to approach the otherwise unoccupied table at the front of the room.

Harry sighed lightly and tilted his head back, the light from the many candles in the hall bouncing off his glasses. He folded his hands across his lap, slumping back into his chair. Tom cursed him mentally. A pureblood never used posture so sloppy in public. He knew that Harry's mother was not a Pureblood, but to his knowledge no one else but Dumbledore was aware of that fact and Tom intended to keep it that way.

Tom paused at the end of the table, grabbing the hem of his sleeve in his fingers and allowing himself a brief moment to revel in the feel of them. It was wonderful to be back in his full school uniform. He still loved the feel of robes, even after a full year of wearing them.

"Hey, Tom."

"Harry."

Harry wasn't moving; seemed to be intently studying the clouds sliding across the ceiling, in fact.

"Train was alright, then?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Harry still hadn't looked at him.

This was foolish, Tom decided. He cleared his throat, fixing Harry with a mild glare. He was tempted to use something stronger, but that would be no good for his perfect reputation.

Harry lifted his head, finally gifting Tom with his direct attention.

"My classmates would like to meet you."

The new Flight Instructor glanced at the group of second year Slytherins waiting just inside the doors of the otherwise empty hall.

"Uh huh." His smirk said he knew exactly what Tom was up to. Tom was getting tired of that smirk. It had been used on him quite a lot this summer, even when he wasn't up to anything _too_ bad. "Well, I guess we shouldn't keep them waiting."

Harry stood stiffly, using the table edge to lever himself out of his seat. He walked forward easily enough, but Tom saw the tension in his shoulders and quickly hidden grimace as he took the single step down from the raised dais the teachers table sat upon.

Tom frowned, following him down so he could say in a low voice that the wonderful acoustics in the room wouldn't carry too far, "You were getting better."

"Long walk from Hogsmeade. And it's cold outside."

And Harry was too prideful, or perhaps just too stubborn, to want to use his cane in front of the students, even though his knee was apparently paining him. If he even had the cane with him. Tom didn't see it anywhere, but with wizards that didn't mean much.

Harry shifted his weight impatiently and Tom realized they'd paused a few steps from the dias. Irritated, he started walking again.

They stopped side by side in front of the waiting group. Harry had a friendly smile plastered on his face. Tom did not miss the stiffness in it.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet my year mates. Everyone, my brother: Professor Harry Potter."

"We're quite pleased to meet you, sir," Nott said, holding out his hand. "Alexander Nott."

Harry took it. "And you, Mr. Nott," he replied, dropping the hand with a swiftness that bordered on impolite. It could have been taken as simply a brisk manner, but this was a group that had been reading the subtleties of body language all their lives.

Tom spoke before the situation could become awkward, introducing the rest of the group by a complex order he'd taken great pains to learn. Blood purity, social position of the family and in the house, and the actual degree of acquaintance he held with them all factored. By the end of the introductions, Harry was visibly attempting to keep his weight off of his bad leg, his shoulders growing increasingly tense.

"It was a pleasure to meet all of you, but I'm afraid I have a meeting with the Headmaster to get to," he apologized politely. The small crowd murmured equally polite agreements and moved through the Great Hall doors. Tom contained himself until he and Harry were halfway across the Entrance Hall, the rest of the group a decent distance in front of them.

"Is there a problem?" he asked. He'd thought Harry wouldn't be staying past the feast.

"No, we just have to have a quick discussion about scheduling and I'll head home." Harry hesitated. "I'll owl you, let you know when I'll be here next."

Tom shook his head, stepping away. "Don't bother. The first year's lesson dates will be posted in the common rooms."

"Right." Harry's eyes darted from the three who'd lingered behind the rest of their year mates, waiting for Tom across the hall, to the main staircase. Tom understood. Harry might be walking without the cane most of the time, but stairs… stairs were another matter entirely.

He'd give Harry his dignity. No need to flaunt such a weakness in front of his classmates, not when they were both counting on Harry having a positive social reputation. He nodded a stiff farewell and left Harry's side for the company waiting by the dungeon stairs. The group left, allowing Harry to make his painful way up the stairs to the headmaster's office in privacy, the sound of his cane on the stairs echoing faintly after them.

OoOoO

End Chapter

Couldn't find an 'official' name for Nott or any of the Quidditch instructors before Hooch. Ellerby is taken from the HP Lexicon: Ellerby and Spudmore released the Tinderblast broom in 1940. Also according to the Lexicon, Sirius' mother married her second cousin; Black was both her married and her maiden name. She was born a year before Tom, so I'm taking artistic license by putting her in the same school year.


	2. In Which There are Relatives

Um, hi. Yes, I'm alive. Yes, this chapter is way too short considering how long it took. The story's going to be written in mini-chapters for a while in an attempt to achieve something resembling a regular update schedule. (And to give myself more time to convince the story that the beginning needs to be written _before_ the ending.)

I've now got an LJ account where you can go updates on fanfiction related things. User name is sistersmuses, or it's listed as the homepage on my ffnet profile.

Chapter 2: In Which There are Relatives

OoOoO

Harry's first official day of teaching could have been much worse, all things considered. There were no injuries. That alone made it better than his own first flying lesson, although he did have to intervene when a pair of boys in the Slytherin- Ravenclaw class looked ready to start hitting each other over the heads with their broomsticks.

Dippet made brief mention of changing the mix of Houses in the near future. The Gryffindors tended to tease the more timid Hufflepuff's extensively- which, Harry had to admit after his first day, was true, even if the teasing did not seem to be exactly malicious in nature- and the Headmaster thought the Ravenclaw's studious determination to succeed might be more complimentary to the Hufflepuff's hardworking natures.

Personally, Harry was just glad he'd not had to start off his very first day with a class of Slytherins and Gryffindors.

He'd looked for Tom briefly afterwards, thinking it would be the proper thing to at least give a token hello, but the boy made no appearances and Harry wasn't in the mood to search the entire castle, so he left.

OoOoO

_Thump. _Harry set his book on the coffee table, dropping an empty mug on top of it to keep it open. The pages shivered petulantly. A sharp look stilled it. He dug a second book out of the pile spread across the couch, sure that this one had given contrary information on how a particular spell worked. The first book flipped the mug off its pages and shut itself, scuttling to the opposite end of the table. Harry ignored it, sitting back to flip through the second book until he'd found the passage he was looking for. He set it on his lap and called the first with a wandless _accio. _It quivered briefly and shot into his open hand.

Harry allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. His magic was finally settling down, though it did still have an occasional tendency to spike at unexpected moments. Sometimes Harry could swear that it didn't like him. Considering he'd been flooded with leftover magic from Voldemort's horcrux, he supposed it wasn't entirely impossible.

Now that the first year lessons were out of the way, he'd begun preparing to take his NEWTs. The reviewing was going quickly. He mostly remembered the material covered through sixth year, so that was coming back with relative ease. The sizable chunks of work he'd missed when he should have been taking seventh year classes were giving him more trouble.

He reopened the first book and went in search of the section of text he'd been reading. This took longer than it should have, as the book kept flipping farther than he wanted it to or sticking its pages together. Finally, he came across the correct passage with a vague sense of relief. He'd never understand why wizards liked to animate their books. At least this one wasn't trying to take a bit out of his fingers.

Ron's chess-piece charm began cursing from its place on the mantle. Someone on the grounds. Non-hostile. Harry waved a hand and the white king fell silent.

He'd just decided that the two books simply described two different ways to achieve the same result when someone knocked on the front door. He set the books on the table. The first snapped shut and shot away from him so fast that it slipped over the other side of the table and sat shivering on the floor.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, stifling a groan as limbs gone stiff over the course of the study session stretched for the first time in several hours. He'd been studying nearly all morning, in between frequent breaks to read up on the latest news in Quidditch. There was a mid-year NEWT exam offered in January. If Harry wasn't ready, he'd have to wait until the summer to take it, and that meant a long delay before he started studying for his Mastery.

The sooner he was done with his schooling, the better.

He picked his way through the piles of books and loose parchment that had taken over the living room in the three weeks since the school year started, absent-mindedly rechecking the location of his wand and cane in their respective pockets. By now the cane was seeing rare use, but Harry remembered from the original injury, during the never-ending push to find Voldemort's horcruxes, how the pain could flare up at the most inconvenient of times. Better to just keep the cane with him in case he needed it, shrunken in his pocket where it wouldn't get in his way.

He opened the door and was met by a couple in their forties. The man was big-boned but not overweight, sporting a friendly smile that emphasized the laugh lines on his face. The woman beside him held herself with a slightly rigid air of exhasperated long-suffering. Something about her set off Harry's sense of déjà vu.

"Hello," the man greeted with an open grin and easy drawl. "Would you be Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Harry stood just behind the threshold, slightly uneasy. Old habits die hard, and being greeted with his full name by perfect strangers could have lead to any manner of uncomfortable situations in his past life.

"Good, good. I'm Mitch McGonagall. This lovely lady is my wife Lucille." Okay. What were they doing on his front porch? Wait, _McGonagall?_ Mitch laughed a little. It sounded nervous. "If I'm not mistaken, you and I are cousins."

The world stuttered to a stop. Cousins? _Cousins? _

"Oh." Harry blinked rapidly. Mitch held out a hand. He shook it out of habit. Their hands dropped and his drifted to the doorknob. "Ah, erm. Oh." Finally, slightly desperate, he managed a complete sentence. "Would you like to come in?"

"Sure, sure! If it's not too much trouble?"

"No, no trouble." He stepped back out of the doorway.

"I do apologize for not owling ahead, but we thought it best to introduce ourselves in person," Lucille stated as she preceded her husband through the door.

She paused in the entry, taking off her hat and giving her husband a _look. _"Oh! Right, right." He took off his own hat and started to hand it to his wife. Harry stepped in quickly, holding out his hands for both and putting them on the hooks in the hall, waiting until he'd been handed their cloaks as well.

Lucille was sending a practiced, critical eye over Harry and what she could see of the house, mouth tightening ever-so-slightly in disapproval. Mildly startled, Harry realized it was a look he'd seen Professor McGonagall sporting quite often. _Her parents. These must be her parents. _She didn't say anything about the décor, but Harry decided then and there that if he was going to keep getting unexpected guests like this he'd have to start keeping the house cleaner. He looked at the mess of books, notes, and other random belongs spread all over every piece of furniture in the living room and decided not to bother trying to clear a space for his guests.

"Come sit down in the kitchen and I'll make some tea."

He led them into the kitchen, gesturing loosely towards the table. Mitch pulled out a chair for Lucille, smiling at her beatifically. Harry turned away to get the tea together. When he turned around again a few minutes later, tea tray in hand, Mitch was seated beside his wife, fingers entwined with hers. Harry cleared his throat, a bit unsure.

"So we're cousins."

"Yeah, Yeah! Well. Actually, your father and I were cousins, which would make us… ah, what was it, Lovely?"

"First cousins once removed," came the prim reply from his wife.

"Right, right. Thank you," he added as Harry set the tea tray on the table. He took two of the cups, putting sugar and cream in each.

"Mitchell's mother was your father's sister," Lucille elaborated for Harry in a no-nonsense manner, taking the cup her husband handed her.

Harry sat with only the slightest complaint from his knee. Chairs and stairs were the worst. "I didn't know my father had any family."

Considering the man they assumed to be Harry's father would have actually been his grandfather, the relation _was _technically rather distant. Still… actual blood relations, willingly engaging him in idle conversation. What a new experience.

Mitch made an appreciative sound. "That's good tea. The Potter family wasn't that big, but there's a bunch of extended family about. My family, the Longbottoms, the Prewitts the Bones."

"I guess I'm lucky there haven't been more people knocking on my door, then." Harry smoothed down his fringe, laughing and feeling a bit overwhelmed. It only made sense he'd have an extensive extended family, what with how often magical families intermarried, but he hadn't expected any of them to seek him out."

"They are likely waiting for an official announcement, as we were."

Harry paused with his hand still up by his hair, staring at Lucille blankly. She raised her eyebrows.

"It is generally expected that there be a party upon the opening of a family manor."

"But I haven't reopened the manor."

Mitch nudged her, grinning. "I told her we didn't need to wait for an invitation to introduce ourselves."

Harry frowned. He hadn't meant to be rude, but… "It'll probably be a few years before I even think about reopening the manor. This house is plenty big enough for now, especially with Tom back at school."

Lucille straightened. "Those aren't simply unfounded rumors?"

"Eh?"

"Minerva- our daughter, she's a third year Gryffindor, you'll probably meet her sometime- wrote us a letter the other day. A friend of a friend told her a second year by the name of Tom Riddle started using the name Potter." Her brow furrowed. "It's actually true?"

Oh. That. "I took custody earlier this summer. Told him he could choose which name he used."

The frown deepened. She leaned forward a bit and opened her mouth to ask another question, but Mitch stopped her by planting a quick kiss on her temple. "Come on, Lovely. We didn't come to talk about all this serious stuff."

Harry fiddled with the handle of his teacup. He and Tom had never talked about exactly how much they were going to tell people about their blood relationship, or lack thereof. He knew Tom told his classmates they were brothers, but that still left quite a bit open. They would have to have a conversation, and soon, about what details they were going to give people.

Lucille shot her husband a sideways look. "Yes, I'm sure you'd be much more interested in his favorite Quiddtich team. No need to worry about any immediate family your cousin's son might have." Mitch lit up at the mention of Quidditch. Lucille shook her head, shifting slightly to lean her shoulder against his fondly.

Harry debated whether or not to tell them anything more before talking to Tom. No matter what more he said, the McGonagall's would no doubt tell their daughter that Tom had legitimate right to his new name, and she'd likely tell one or two of her friends, and that was all it would take for word to be all over the school.

Mitch leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Speaking of Quidditch-" Lucille made an aggravated sound, which he cheerfully spoke right over- "I hear you're the new coach."

"Yes. You like Quidditch, then? Do you have a broom?"

"Sure, sure!"

Lucille rolled her eyes good naturedly, settling in with her tea. Neither of the men noticed.

OoOoO

"So, we'll see you at the Gryffindor's first game!"

Harry paused, bag of floo powder in hand. "You're coming?"

"Of course, of course! Minnie's trying out for the team this year, and there's no doubt our girl's going to get anything she puts her mind to. Right, Lovely?"

Lucille McGonagall let out a little puff of breath that wasn't _quite _an exasperated snort. "She can be quite tenacious once she sets her mind to something. I _do _wonder who she received that trait from." She tilted her head at her husband. He laughed.

"Why from her mother, of course," he said. Lucille hid a faint smile behind the hand she raised to put on her hat. If Minerva McGonagall's child self was anything like her adult self, Mitch was probably right.

"Go ahead, Lovely," Mitch nudged his wife forward with a hand to the small of her back. Lucille took a handful of floo powder from the bag Harry held out for her and disappeared in a flash of green flame.

"Thank you for visiting."

"No problem, no problem. See you at the game then, eh?" Another flash of flame and Harry was alone in his house once again.

OoOoO

Quick edit: there's a timeline of sorts up on the LJ to explain how Harry's fit himself into the Potter family of this universe. It can be found here: http colon double slash sisters dash muses dot livejournal dot com slash one six nine six dot html.


	3. In Which Stories are Straightened

Chapter 3: In Which Stories are Straightened

OoOoO

Tom slipped into the restricted section for the fifth time in the last two weeks. The main part of the library held plenty of surface information on the founders, but nothing of interest to him. The records of Salazar Slytherin in those books were limited at best. There was more to the founder: he wouldn't be _Slytherin _if there weren't hordes of things the man had done, things kept to limited knowledge. Even the restricted section probably wouldn't contain all the detailed knowledge he wanted, but it was the best place to start.

He two hours before the caretaker made his rounds. Tom settled in to read.

OoOoO

When the mail came at breakfast one morning in early October, Tom ignored the owls themselves, focusing on the students' reactions to their letters instead. That Gryffindor first year was still getting weekly letters from home. The Ravenclaw fifth year who always sat at the end of the table seemed to be having trouble with his girlfriend. Black had started submitting to the _Daily Prophet... _

An owl landed on the table in front of him. It took Tom a moment to recognize Wolf. (_And he _still _couldn't understand why Harry had chosen that of all things to name an owl.) _Wolf held out a claw, staring at Tom as if daring him not to take the letter attached to it. Around him, his Slytherin classmates were beginning to notice. Tom had never gotten a letter at breakfast before.

Rookwood reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice sitting by Tom's plate. Wolf snapped at his hand, ruffling his feathers in a protective show. Rookwood jerked his hand back, biting off a curse, and turned an angry look on Tom.

"Watch where you put your hand," Tom snapped. He untied the letter quickly, before the bloody owl could gather even more unwanted attention, glancing at it only long enough to confirm that Harry had sent it. '_I told him he didn't have to write',_ Tom thought furiously, stuffing the note in a pocket. He wasn't about to open mail at the table, where anyone could see it.

Wolf was still sitting by his plate, glaring at him. Tom gave him a sausage, shooing him away. Wolf stayed where he was a moment more, as if to prove he was leaving because he wanted to and Tom had no say in the matter, before finally taking his prize elsewhere to eat.

OoOoO

_Tom, _

_We need to clear up some history. I'll be at Hogwarts for breakfast the morning of the first game. Make some time to talk. _

_Harry_

OoOoO

"They don't need to know anything," was Tom's immediate reply when Harry mentioned his newly discovered relatives.

Harry didn't really want to tell them anything either. "Legally, you're still my next of kin. Whether or not we're related by blood doesn't matter."

"Wizards always put blood first." Tom hands were clenched in fists so tight his knuckles were white. He saw where Harry was looking and relaxed them deliberately.

Harry couldn't really say anything to that. Tom was right, after all. Adoption bound them legally and magically, but blood came first and foremost in wizard lineage. They could lie, of course, but it would have to be a convincing one.

"We should have planned this out better," Harry muttered, smoothing down his fringe. "We have to tell them something. They're bound to bring it up again, and avoiding the topic will just make them more curious."

"I've already told people here that we're brothers. You can't change that now!"

"I told you that you could." In a roundabout way, perhaps, saying that Tom could think of him as something closer to a brother rather than a father.

Harry could think of two possibilities. "Half brothers or cousins," he said.

Tom stiffened indignantly. "Half brothers would make me illegitimate!"

It wouldn't exactly cast Harry's parents in a flattering light, either. It was the simplest blood relationship to explain, which was the only reason Harry had mentioned it. "Cousins, then. On my mother's side, so it can't be traced."

"This could have been avoided if you'd just not mentioned me."

Harry rolled his eyes. Now Tom was just being petulant, and they both knew it. "They already knew about you. Their daughter's a third year here. I'm surprised no one's asked you for any more details."

"They have. I just haven't told them anything specific."

"Right. So we'll say we're actually cousins—our mothers were sisters—but since I'm your guardian and our ages are so close we decided to call each other brothers instead. That way we can still claim a blood relation and it's not unusual that I didn't know you until now." Hopefully that story would be enough to satisfy the McGonagall's, and all the other people who were bound to hear about it through them.

Tom was watching him through narrowed eyes. Harry frowned right back. "What?"

"Why will it be harder to trace family through your mother's side?"

"They'd have to find her maiden name."

"That's not all of it. Why?"

"I never said I was pureblood, Tom, people just assumed." He'd actually thought Tom had figured out that much a while ago. And for wizards, a muggle's family was much harder to find and trace than a pureblood, or even a halfblood.

Tom was still watching him with that intent, calculating look, and Harry wondered what it was that had set off the kid's suspicions. He forced himself to relax. Suspecting that Harry was not coming fully clean about his past was a long way from suspecting that he was actually a dimension hopping abnormality from the future.

"I've got to go get ready for the game," he said, "If you end up having to make up more details about our 'family' make sure to tell me so we can keep our stories straight."

Tom nodded once, sharply, but Harry's sinking stomach insisted that their newly crafted blood relationship was the last thing on his mind.


End file.
